


A Helping Hand

by The_Arkadian



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: shkinkmeme, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a trying case, Watson helps ease the pain of Holmes' sprained ankle with a little relaxing foot massage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt: http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/5516.html?thread=8381580#t8381580  
> "I'd love something fluffy, idc if it gets smutty or not, with either Holmes or Watson with their feet in the other's lap. "

It had been a thoroughly beastly day in terms of the weather. Holmes had taken one look at me that morning as I limped very stiffly towards my chair and declared that I was to stay home and upon no account leave the comforting warmth of the fire.

I will confess that it was with no small feeling of relief that I agreed to acquiesce to his request, even knowing that his insistence was not entirely due to altruistic reasons; in my current state, I knew that I would be more of a hindrance than a help to him.

So it was that as he departed early that afternoon, although I felt no small twinge of guilt at remaining behind, I felt mostly thankfulness as I stretched my painful leg out before the heat of the fire and tried to massage away the worst of the cramping pain.

My thankfulness and relief had changed to feelings of concern as the evening drew on and there was no sign of his return, however. Indeed, I went so far as to resolve to go in search of him myself and to that end had risen and was in the act of checking my revolver and putting it in my pocket when I heard his tread upon the stairs. It did not sound quite right even to my own untrained ears however; the steps were halting, with pauses and then slow dragging sounds. With misgivings, I threw open the sitting room door and made my way to the top of the stairs.

Holmes was slowly making his way up the stairs, clutching tightly to the bannister as he went. He paused, then limped up another two stairs before pausing again, his breathing harsh and laboured with the effort. He glanced up at me then and a look of relief washed over his face as he caught sight of me. "Watson," he smiled. "Your timing is, as ever, impeccable. I appear to have injured my ankle; would you...."

I descended the stairs swiftly and slipped my arm around his waist as, gratefully, he slung his arm over my shoulder and I assisted him up the remainder of the stairs. He limped heavily as we made our way into the sitting room, and sank down with a faint groan into his chair. I fetched a brandy and thrust it into his hand and then drew over a footstool. Seating myself, I carefully lifted his damaged left ankle up to rest it in my lap.

"Watson, it's nothing," Holmes protested, but I fixed him with a stern grin.

"Let me the judge of that, eh?" I suggested, unlacing his shoe and throwing it to one side before carefully rolling up the leg of his trousers and peeling off the sock.

Holmes leaned back in his chair with an indrawn hiss of pain as I carefully probed the ankle. He took a hasty gulp of the brandy. I set his foot more firmly in my lap then began to gently massage his ankle.

"I don't think you've broken anything," I remarked as my fingers worked soothingly over the bruised skin. "Just a painful wrench I think. Does this help?"

He groaned appreciatively. "Yes... oh, that's good," he sighed. I started to work my fingers further down the ankle and around the heel before running my thumbs up the length of his instep firmly. He moaned, sinking further down into the chair, forgetting the brandy glass that dangled from his long elegant fingers. I flexed my thumbs into the ball of his foot then up and around each long toe and he positively whimpered with delight.

"Give me your other foot," I ordered. Willingly, he pulled off his other shoe and sock, then gently placed the pale long foot into my lap. Expertly I ministered to that foot also, eliciting further moans of pleasure as my thumbs worked along the length of the sensitive sole of his feet, and then I tucked both of his feet firmly into my lap as I ran my hands slowly up his calves.

"Oh, Watson," he breathed softly. "That feels so good."

I smiled. "Better?" I asked quietly.

He nodded. "Yes; oh yes."

"Good!" My grin widened. "Then it's my turn."

His answering grin was mischevious and full of unspoken promises.


End file.
